


do not let me be put to shame

by Alene



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [1]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Blasphemy, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 13:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alene/pseuds/Alene
Summary: Mamma is having one of those nights, again.





	do not let me be put to shame

**Author's Note:**

> [A tumblr drabble](https://tristealven.tumblr.com/post/177869447904/for-the-meme-heres-a-tori-amos-quote-that-makes) that got long enough to be posted here, too.

Mamma is having one of those nights, again. She had forgotten the carrots from the stew, noticed them chopped on the counter only as she was taking the dish out of the oven. Then she had dropped a full carton of milk and it had spilt all over the kitchen floor. 

When Isak comes back with a bucket and a mop, she’s standing exactly where he left her. In the middle of a puddle of milk, hands hanging uselessly on the sides and a wild look in her eyes. A hint of panic, a hint of something utterly foreign.

“Mamma?” Isak tries, pulls her away from the puddle, “Mamma, your socks are wet. Do you want to go and change them?”

Mamma looks up at Isak, and for a moment it looks like she doesn’t know where she is. Then she nods.

“Okay,” she whispers.

Isak mops the floor. Sets the table. Notes that he has to buy more milk tomorrow, after school. He puts one of the carrot pieces in his mouth, chews, debates adding them to the stew anyway, but ends up shoving them in the trash can.

Under the empty plastic packages and all the other shit. No time to sort the waste.

He doesn’t want mamma to see the carrots. Doesn’t want another meltdown. At least not until they’ve eaten.

 

***

 

Mamma has changed all the clothes, not just her socks. She sits at the table and looks at Isak. 

“Will you say a prayer tonight?” she asks.

“I–.” Isak scratches the back of his head, stares at the plate in front of him. “Could you say it?”

Mamma frowns.  

“It has to be right,” she mutters to herself.

Isak clenches his fists under the table, against the fabric of his sweatpants. Blinks and breathes through the nose.

In and out.

On an exhale his nose makes an aggravating, piping sound. He has allergies.

But mamma doesn’t notice.

“It has to be exactly right. Too many things gone wrong tonight.”

She leafs through The Bible, almost frantically, and then starts to read in a breathless tone.

“I hold fast to your statutes, lord; do not let me be put to shame. I run in the path of your commands, for you have broadened my understanding. Teach me, lord…”

His nose whistles again.

He would laugh. He can’t.

 

***

 

Isak flees to his room as soon as the dinner is done. Closes the door. Closes the eyes. 

Hopes mamma won’t burn the house down now that she’s alone.

He’s just so, so tired.

So tired.

 

***

 

There’s nothing to see on Facebook, nothing to see on Instagram. Eva has probably blocked him on Skype. Jonas is God knows where. Smoking with Elias. Fucking one of his girls.

Mamma’s credit card expired last week and he keeps forgetting to update the payment info on Netflix. He thinks he still has pappa’s credit card number written down on a piece of paper somewhere in his room.   

Isak drops the phone on the bed. Stares at the ceiling. Picks up the phone again. Checks the email again. Spam. Again. Checks Facebook. Instagram. Netflix app. Which says that his credit card has expired.

Again.

He types PornHub in the address bar. Sees a pair of huge, balloon-like boobs. Holes filled. Tries to be quick, click on categories, click on gay, get away from the boobs. Quick quick quick. The guy in the first thumbnail looks big. Click. No no no, not that. Back. Back. Not that far back. It’s the boobs again.

Fuck.

He drops the phone again. Closes his eyes. His hand moves down, inside the sweatpants. Inside the boxer briefs. He thinks about shoving them down. Can’t. Mamma can come in. Fingertips touch the skin it’s so so soft, so hard underneath, and he listens to the sounds from outside. Nothing. Okay. Breathe in. Out. He can take a good grab now, and he does. He does. The first touch sends a shock through him, always. He forgets how this feels. And then remembers. His hand moving up and down, breath going in and out, he bites his lip, can’t make a sound. Can’t whine can’t moan he has read somewhere that it’d be better if he could shakes his head don’t think about it now. Something else. Think about Jonas. 

It’s Jonas’ hand touching him arm going up down veins just under the skin tanned skin kind eyes soft no no no, not Jonas.

Not. Jonas.

Jonas laughing, Jonas’ soft lips touching, then not touching. Jonas saying that at least he knows he’s hetero now.

Think about Nils.

Sandy brown hair. Skinny arms. Hands moving up and down as he talks, excited.  _ Direct me in the path of your commands, for there I find delight. _ And the way his eyes laugh.

All the girls loved Nils. All year, all the confirmation meetings. Whispering in the back row. Nils’ eyes. Nils’ mouth.

He can’t be older than 20, Ingrid said.

No, but he’s a catechist, someone else said.

At least 25.

And Nils just smiled, like he knew what they said about him. About his ass. Thighs.   

_ Direct me in the path of your commands, for there I find delight _

Isak didn’t even want to be confirmed. He wanted a secular ceremony, like Jonas.

But mamma,

no, don’t think about mamma now.

His hand keeps moving up and down. Wrist starting to ache. Bad angle. Has to shove the pants down anyway. Only down to his knees. It feels dirtier like this, like he’s with Nils, like they’re in a hurry. Like someone can come in.

Nils’ hand moves, twists at the top, grips harder then lighter, fast not so fast, touches the tip, there’s the other hand too, moving on the inside of Isak’s thigh, it tickles, he feels it in his toes inside his spine, Nils would touch him there, he would do anything Isak asked.  

_ Turn my eyes away from worthless things; preserve my life according to your word _

There’s a knock on his door.

Isak breathes in sharply, lets go of his dick. There’s a whine somewhere in his throat, trying to come out. Heart hammering against his ribcage, his temples, the tips of his fingers.

“Isak?” Mamma’s voice is quiet.

“Yeah?”

It comes out hoarse. Like he hasn’t spoken in years.

Maybe he hasn’t.

“I’m going to bed now. Good night.”

Isak lets out a breath, clears his throat.

“Good night, mamma.”

_ Turn my heart toward your statutes and not toward selfish gain _

His breath starts evening out. The thrum of his heartbeat slowing under his skin.  

_ Turn my heart toward your statutes and not toward selfish gain _

He closes his eyes.

_ Not toward selfish gain _

Lets his fingers find the way again, down the skin of his stomach, past the coarse hair. They know their path, they always know. Have been here a thousand times.

He grips his dick, firmly now. Thinks of it, thinks of other dicks. Can’t stop the sigh that comes out. Nils wasn’t that big when he was soft. There was a sauna at the ski trip. He had been too terrified, could not look at other boys. Could not look, could not be selfish.

_ Selfish _

But he had looked at Nils.

The light hair dusted on his legs, all the way up, all over his ass too. Probably even more between the ass cheeks if he was allowed to see.  

His hand is moving faster than before breath coming out in pants back arching there’s a picture of Nils’ cock burned on his retinas and it’s growing bigger as Isak looks, looks, looks

_ Not toward selfish gain _

_ Not _

He takes it in his mouth tastes the silky salty soft skin they’re in the sacristy, not the one in Grefsen Church he’s never been there but the one he’s seen in television shows everything looks vaguely catholic now

                                                                  and

                                                                        his head is bobbing up and down it’s the cock in his mouth it’s his own fingers he doesn’t care as long as his mouth is full other hand moving moving moving

_ selfish gain _

_ selfish again _

he tightens his grip on the way up then twists feels the pressure low in his belly in the end of his spine, expanding, his legs tensing, cramping, have been opened wide too long and then his dick pulses pulses pulses, series of bursts, his hand getting covered in cum and he continues until he can’t until he has to lift his hand to his mouth and lick everything savor the taste let the feeling spread in his limbs because

He never feels more bonelessly tired, empty of everything, than like this. 

And sometimes he can even sleep, after.    
  



End file.
